


Mistress of the Moors

by Ga_Elle



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Complete, F/F, Femslash, Forced Masturbation, Language, Missing Scene, Omorashi, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 21:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18039824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ga_Elle/pseuds/Ga_Elle
Summary: The Cut-Wife teaches Vanessa a new protection spell.“You have to nourish the woods to have their favor in return.”Missing Moments from 2x03 “The Nightcomers”, Vanessa Ives x Cut-Wife (Joan Clayton)





	Mistress of the Moors

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language, please give me heads up for any mistakes! Any help is much appreciated :)  
> Also my first story I post involving omorashi (didn't even know it was a thing!); prompted by anon: "the cut-wife toying with Vanessa, teaching her some protection spell through omorashi". Hope it's decent!

__

Vanessa trudges through mud, lifting her skirt in one hand as she follows the Cut-Wife deeper into the woods. She often feels the pangs in her lower abdomen, now, but tries to ignore them by focusing on their walk. Her main goal is to avoid tripping.  
  
The old woman knows that land like the back of her hand and she pace steadily through the roots and soft musk. The Cut-Wife seems not to mind to get her skirt and clothes dirty, maybe because it would be her own job to wash them, later.  
  
“Did you do as I said?” The older woman hisses harshly.  
  
Vanessa shots her head up, glaring at her even if she can’t see her.  
  
“Yes.” She simply replies, her voice carrying no emotion.  
  
“Good.” The Cut-Wife spats, crossing a protruding root.  
  
Vanessa follows her, speeding up her pace to get closer to her. She hopes that they reach their destination soon to get over with her discomfort, which is growing by the second; she wants to know everything about the moors and its secrets, but she wonders if every spell would require such or a similar price. The Cut-Wife often tells her that everything has its meaning, but never explains if she asks in the wrong time.  
  
She never knows when she's entitled to speak; Vanessa takes chances, accepting the consequences when fate is not on her side. The punishments are never too harsh anyway.  
Vanessa has learned to love the moors. The place is silent and peaceful and the sun hits the land with warmth and bright light. The smells coming from the woods are growing familiar into her nostrils and the trees provide everything she might need.  
  
Sometimes the small house is filled with screams of the girls coming to get rid of their babes, but then everything returns to silence and the blood is easily washed off the floor, so it’s like it never happened. Everything in that place seems a dream, maybe she’s just asleep in her asylum bed and nothing of that is real.  
  
Magic and protection don’t exist.  
  
“Are we there, yet?” Vanessa asks with a wince. She sounds like an impatient child, but she doesn’t care. She’s eager to know, eager to ease her body from her condition.  
  
“Clench your muscles, eh.” The Cut-Wife chuckles. “You can grip yourself if you need to, nobody’s here to see you, girl.”  
  
Vanessa frowns. Her pride doesn’t allow her to do as the old woman suggests. It’s a weakness in her eyes, then again, it could be one of her tricks – to test her strength.  
  
Sometimes she wonders if the Cut-Wife enjoys herself when she mocks her or tortures her, but Vanessa is worse because she let her without fighting: her knowledge is too great and she feels compelled to obey under every circumstance.  
  
She feels yet another pang, more urgent this time and her lips open on their own. The Cut-Wife senses it and turns her head; those mismatched eyes stare at her and her lips bend into a crooked smile.  
  
“Are we there yet?” Vanessa’s voice cracks.  
  
The old woman chuckles, but doesn’t answer. Something inside her tells her that reaching their destination would not be the end of her discomfort – how naive of her to think that. The Cut-Wife can be cruel sometimes.  
  
The old woman spins on her feet and pursues her walk. Minutes, maybe hours, no, not that long: she wouldn’t have last for that long.  
  
The trees become higher and greener, the sun now struggles to get past the leaves, the ground is covered in mud and musk and dead leaves and branches and gnarled roots. There’s a small area where no brushes grow and the largest tree she’d ever seen.  
  
“This is the oldest tree in the moors, girl.” The Cut-Wife explains, walking with a somewhat respectful pace to its truck, placing her rough hand over the cortex. Vanessa watches as she closes her eyes and inhales, for a moment lost in a sort of trance. “I tracked you. You’re ovulating now.”  
  
Vanessa felt her cheeks growing hot. She’d wondered why the Cut-Wife had waited to bring her into the woods and now, slowly, she was explaining everything. Anyway, this thing she wants to teach her it was something very intimate that concerns her closely.  
  
“What do I have to do?” She asks, swallowing the lump in her throat.  
  
“You’ll do the same every month. It’s for protection.” The old woman snarls. She detaches from the oak and gestured the base of the tree. Vanessa notices a small crease between two roots, the right dimension for a body to lay in. “Undress yourself, waist down.”  
  
Vanessa feels somewhat relieved that she’ll be able to sit down and ease some pressure on her abdomen, but she also feels equally nervous by the strange request.  
  
She settles in the nest, feeling quite comfortable against the hard wood and the softness of the ground beneath her. She groups up her skirt and removes all her garments, shivering when the cold wind hits her bare legs and thighs.  
  
Vanessa braces her knees. She’s not embarrassed because there is no one, expect for the Cut-Wife, to see her naked, but that grips give her comfort, not knowing when she will be able to listen to her own body and meet her pressing needs.  
  
The old woman kneels before her and stares at her expecting something. Vanessa stares back, not knowing exactly what to do.  
  
“Well, girl? Have you grown shy, now? You let Satan fuck you and you won’t spread your legs for the very spirits that will protect you?” The Cut-Wife scolds harshly.  
  
Vanessa turns her head away.  
  
“Don’t be cruel.” She snaps.  
  
The old woman chuckles, utterly amused.  
  
“You want to learn the craft, well become its mistress.” The other glared, placing her rough and callous hand on both of her knees, urging them apart. “You have to nourish the wood to have its favor in return.” She unceremoniously pushes her knees open and Vanessa jolts with the sudden movements, sending pangs into her stomach.  
  
Suddenly she seems to understand the Cut-Wife requests.  
  
“I am ready.” Vanessa grunts; chills crawling on her skin as the cold wind washes over her, slipping into secret places that made her squirm in anticipation.  
  
“I can see you are, eh.” The Cut-Wife smiles as she lifts her dress further up her waist. Vanessa feels her harsh touch over her abdomen and lowers her eyes to see where the old woman is touching her. Her normally flat stomach is swollen under the pallid and tensed skin, from her navel down to her crotch; she looks pregnant and Vanessa frowns at the thought. “When was the last time you emptied yourself?” She asks, pressing softly down her bump.  
  
“Yesterday evening, at sunset – as you told me.” She winces in discomfort, clenching tightly her muscles when she feels her body giving up. Vanessa knows the Cut-Wife wouldn’t be pleased with her yielding under her light pressure.  
  
“Good.” The Cut-Wife nods. Then her hand slips further down, and Vanessa silently gasps when she feels her finger moving along the length of her slit. It was a painful remind of their first encounter when the woman had shoved her thumb deep within her without any notice. It had been a brutal invasion, but even then, she let her proceed with her twisted craft – and it worked. “Have you leaked during our walk?”  
  
“No.” She promptly answers. Vanessa closes her eyes, painfully remembering all the water that the woman forced to gulp down during the day, with no apparent reason if not torture her. The Cut-Wife had forbidden her to relieve herself until further notice. _Twisted witch!_ Vanessa thought it was a test, so she squirmed in her bed at night and did her daily chores without complaining. Then the Cut-Wife told her they would go in the woods.  
  
“Mh.” The old woman chuckles briefly when she retrieves her finger, lifting it to her face. Vanessa feels heat spreading through her body when she notices that her pad is shimmering with her juices, nonetheless, more sticky ones. “Enjoying this trip, eh girl?” She mocks. Vanessa doesn't answer, only eager to nourish the tree as the Cut-Wife told her and get rid of the unpleasant sensation of water sloshing inside of her, filling her bladder and making her nauseous, even.  
  
“Tell me what do I have to do.” Vanessa demands, her pale blue eyes glaring. The Cut-Wife was not the type of person who got easily intimidated; Vanessa believes she has never been in her centuries-old life.  
  
“You need to hold on for that.” The old woman spats, giving her a playful pat on her engorged bladder. Vanessa yelps. “Before you can give this land your nourishment, you need to become its mistress, I told you already.” She admonishes.  
  
“How do I do that?” Vanessa inquires, her breathing becoming uneven.  
  
“You enter the demimonde.” The Cut-Wife reveals with a serious glance. “I will show you this time.” She warns.  
  
Vanessa has merely the time to nod before a sharp pain to her most intimate makes her jolt forward. She grips the Cut-Wife hand, trying to still her ministrations, but the old woman is quicker and grips the wrist first, pushing her arm aside.  
  
Vanessa’s mouth is open into a mute cry but forces herself to bite down her lips to regain some sort of composure. She claws the ground, dirt crawling under her nails, and her eyes fall down, watching as the Cut-Wife stretches her entrance with her fingers. It is not a soft touch, her callous hand is rough against her skin and her movements are feverish, precise, of someone who knows what she’s doing.  
  
Vanessa moans and pants, feeling her bladder throbbing, eager to empty itself.  
  
“Not yet, girl.” The Cut-Wife admonishes and Vanessa cries out for a moment when she pinches her sensitive bud of nerves. “Focus.” She spurs.  
  
Vanessa shuts her eyes close. She wants to feel some sort of pleasure, but the discomfort is just too great. She whines, a low growl coming from the back of her throat.  
  
“Eyes on me, girl.” Comes the next order. Vanessa feels her rough hand on her face, cupping her cheek to keep her in place. “You’re not new to such sensations, eh.” The old woman smiles mockingly, but this time the taunting is followed by teaching; so Vanessa listens. “When you feel close to the edge, I want you to clench those pretty muscles of yours and keep me inside you. Don’t get lost.” She instructs.  
  
Vanessa merely nods.  
  
The old woman resumes her ministrations with more energy and strength.  
  
Vanessa feels her inside stretching and aching under her invasive touch, her bladder trying to expand more even though there is no room left. She moans when the old woman curls her fingers inside of her and her sight goes blank for a moment.  
  
Her back arches and her hips buckle to meet the woman’s movements. Finally, there’s some pleasure.  
  
“You keep that up, eh girl.” The old woman’s voice is flat and concentrated on her. Vanessa can sense her stare piercing her very soul.  
  
She’s close to the edge, she knows that now, and just as she’s been instructed, she abruptly still herself, clenching as tight as she could the muscles within her. She could even feel her insides engulfing the Cut-Wife’s fingers and when the woman tries to pull away, Vanessa struggles, but stubbornly clenches tighter to keep her in.  
  
“Good girl.” The woman praises.  
Vanessa is whining uncontrollability now, sweat is glistening on her skin as she tries to fight her fingers pulling away and the water inside of her threatening to gush out any second.  
She cries out in pain and surprise when, in the end, the Cut-Wife rips her fingers out of her without warning, just as she entered her, now had left.  
  
Vanessa feels hollow and unsatisfied now, her womb empty while her bladder is overfull.  
  
She yelps, the corner of her eyes prickling with timid tears.  
  
Vanessa feels a hot sensation running through her lower body and her bladder throbbing and convulsing – panic washes over her with a wave and she has no other options than to grip herself tightly, her fingers probing over clefts to avoid spilling of any sorts.  
  
The Cut-Wife chuckles by herself and Vanessa catches her with the corner of her eyes as she opens and closes her fingers, watching with a pensive stare the sticky material that coaxes her hand; there is some red material also, but she imagines to be the result of her harsh departure from within her. The woman raises to her feet and places her hand over the tree, tracing invisible symbols, ones that mean protection, as she murmurs a low litany. She speaks the _verbis_ _diablo_ , the devil’s tongue – Vanessa hears and remembers.  
  
“You did well, girl.” The Cut-Wife praises. She is never keen on praises, so Vanessa’s heart leaps between one strained beat and the other.  
  
The raven-haired girl pants loudly now, she waits for the Cut-Wife to turn into her direction and allow her to relieve herself, finally, and nourish the land – but the old woman does not turn.  
  
“Are we done?” Vanessa chokes out.  
  
At that, the old woman spins on her heels and laughs, both her hands on her rounded hips.  
  
“Haven’t you noticed where we are, girl?”  
  
Vanessa swallows as she shuts her legs close, her knees bumping sorely into each other. She rubs her thighs together, her hands still gripping hard on herself.  
  
In the chaos of her own distress, she hasn’t realized she is somewhere in between the reality and the dream: everything around her has stopped. She can’t hear no sound coming from the woods, no birds, no animals running over the dead leaves. A fly is floating in mid-air, completely still.  
  
“You come in the demimonde to ask for favors.” The Cut-Wife instructs. “The spirits listen and you nourish their roots.” She starts to walk back to her and when she was close enough, she drops back on her knees. “The tree now knows you from the inside. Remember: the nourishment has to be from inside of you also, something you have struggle upon treasuring.” She whispers steadily, placing again one of her hand over her knees, her touch is gentle this time. “And you have to suffer upon releasing it.”  
  
“I am ready.” Vanessa repeats, struggling even to speak, now. Her whole body is craving for something it cannot have, not one release is allowed yet.  
  
“Are you in pain, girl?” The Cut-Wife finally asks.  
  
Vanessa raises her eyes to meet hers. She nods at that.  
  
“Bring yourself off, eh girl, and you will exit the demimonde.” She said, patting her hand over her trembling knee. “Then, you can nourish the spirits and you’ll be done.”  
  
Vanessa breathes sharply in at that information. She is not sure she can satisfy her request, this time. Pleading, however, is something she won’t do.  
  
She tentatively pushes her legs apart, barely enough for her hands to move between her thighs; she closes her eyes as her fingers stroke her own inner folds, gathering the dampness that had grouped there on her pads. Vanessa doesn’t dare to slip any fingers inside of her, fearing the slightest stimulation on her bladder would make her fail.  
  
She teases her tender bud with frantic movements, desperate to reach the sought release from her now blatant agony. She pushes the tip of her fingers painfully over her leaking spot and doesn’t restrain the moans when they start to build from the back of her throat.  
  
Vanessa merely registers the presence of the Cut-Wife’s hand hovering over her throbbing stomach.  
  
When she climaxes, she bites down her lip hard, until she tastes blood on her tongue.  
  
She opens her eyes, watching in panic when the old woman catches her wrist once again, pulling her hand away from her clenching muscles.  
  
Vanessa cries out, grunting in pain when the Cut-Wife’s free hand pushes hard against her stomach. Unable to restrain herself any more – her body boneless from her pleasure release, she let her legs spread apart. Panting, she watches as the golden liquid gushes from her into the ground.  
  
Her inner parts are sore, stinging with a dull ache and her most sensitive skin is burning like hell. Vanessa grips her wet parts when she’s finished, hoping that it would lessen the pain.  
  
“You’ll get better at it, eh girl.” The Cut-Wife reassures. “The first time is always the most unpleasant.”  
  
Vanessa pants with her lips ajar as the forest turns lively again.  
  
“It wasn’t unpleasant.” She breathes out, lightly massaging her sore bits.  
  
The old woman snorts, bending her lips into a somewhat proud smirk.  
  
“You truly are a mistress of the moors, girl.”


End file.
